


give it time and you'll be fine

by burnsides



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Gen, Trans Jeremy, add, pining michael but just in the background, whos gay? EVERYONE!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 04:20:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13539594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burnsides/pseuds/burnsides
Summary: Michael and Christine become friends, slowly but surely.





	give it time and you'll be fine

**Author's Note:**

> This was admittedly VERY hard for me to do. I tried to capture Christine's voice as best as I can, and try to capture Michael from someone's POV that isn't Jeremy or himself, and keep their budding relationship relevant in a way that isn't directly tied to Jeremy but still has ties to Jeremy. If you have constructive criticism I'd honestly love to hear it, and as always have fun reading!

Christine first hears of Michael Mell when she is talking to a few of the other drama kids about casting calls for the school's (possible) production of Rent. Christine was excited, actually, thrilled, because she _really really_ wanted to be Mimi, like, preeeeetty much her dream role, for real, and she wanted to know who would be her Roger because she just _loved_ the romance between them. Even if she didn't know if she would even get the role she was still excited. It was just a really cool opportunity.

Anyway, anyway. She was talking to Kai and Ramona about casting ideas. They did this sometimes, just coming up with ideas for who would be who in the next performance. Kai and Ramona were unbiased, as techies, but Christine had an obvious bias. A Christine bias. But she still tried to be fair and equal to everyone, because there really was a lot of wonderful talented people in the department.

"It'd be nice to find a person of color to be Joanne," said Kai, twirling their hair around their finger. "I mean, there's, like. Six people of color in the school. But it'd still be nice."

"Mr. Reyes is always trying to do new things, maybe he'd go for it," Ramona added.

"Mimi of course needs to be a person of color," Christine announced. "Not just talking about me, for reals. It's just really important for a character like that to be played by a person of color, you know? I think the girl, uh uh, Lizzy, she's in chorus, she's got a KILLER voice, she'd be great for Mimi, ooh, ooh, or maybe Mimi!"

Ramona scrunched up her nose. "Lizzy? Lizzy is like, super homophobic. Probably not the play for her."

Kai shook their head. "No, no, Lizzy is gay now."

"Lizzy's gay?"

"Yeah, she's dating Val Terrero, the sophomore, you didn't hear?"

Christine tried to follow the gossip, but got caught up in drawing diagrams in her head for who would be good for which role. She kept putting herself in the role for Mimi and then chastising herself, because now, Christine, don't get yourself too positive. But nothing's wrong with being too positive! she argued back with herself. She went back and forth like that before moving on and plotting out who'd be good for what, focusing on Roger.

"Maybe Rich Goranski would be a good Roger," Christine added.

Kai let out a bark of laughter. "Rich? Seriously? He's like, 4 feet tall."

"Maybe he can sing though! I think he'd make a very endearing Roger, short guys can be good in that role. Ohhh, though, we don't know what his vocal range is, we should -"

"How about for Mark?" Ramona cuts through, and, ah. Right. Christine closes her mouth and kicks her feet. _But I have so many ideas!_ her brain protests, but she hushes it. Settles for kicking her feet. It's all fine.

"Oh!" Kai snaps their fingers. "What about...oh, God, what's that kid's name?"

Ramona cocks her head. "You're not really giving a lot of good info for us to work off."

"Tall guy, dark hair, red hoodie he wears all the time...always listening to music?"

Ramona furrows her eyebrows. "Michael Mell? But he's kinda..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, but he'd make a really good Mark. I can hear him singing sometimes in the hall, he has a good range for it, don't you think, Christine?"

Christine was momentarily confused, because she'd never heard of a Michael Mell, and she was very curious as to why Ramona thought he's Kinda Something, but she just shrugged. "I dunno, I've never...uh...who's Michael Mell?"

Kai sighed, like they were thinking, _Silly Christine. Can never keep her attention._ "Tall guy, dark hair, red hoodies he wears all the time...always listens to music, has big ass headphones. You should try to get him to audition, you're good at that."

She brightened immediately at that, and got to work on making a frankly lovely chart, with some of her colorful highlighters, on how to get this stranger to join, even though she knows close to nothing about him. She tried to voice some of her ideas, sometimes, but they don't really listen, which is fine. They're busy. She could initiate her plan by herself. She's very good at executing plans, especially theater plans. She'd been recruiting people since she joined in eighth grade, and was very proud of the progress she had made, thanks very much.

As soon as the bell rings, Christine leapt out of her seat and scampered into the hallway, scanning for any sight of this mystery man. The hallways are crowded, though, and it's about a minute before the bell rings that she spots a tall boy with dark hair, red hoodie and shoulders bobbing with the music on his headphones. She gasped with excitement and pushed through the people, to some barking in surprise, which made her squeak "sorry, sorry, coming through!"

Tapping on Michael's shoulder made him jump like he had been electrocuted, turning around with raises shoulders and arms up in some sort of judo position. Christine felt a bubble of questions and words rising up before she could stop herself.

"Do you do judo? Or, like, gosh, are you a judo person? Whoops, what's the right term for that, I have no idea, gosh." She flapped her hands. "Anyway, anyway. I was wondering if you had any interest in joining the after school play! We're thinking of doing Rent, which is just a _lovely_ show, by the way, and it'd be great to have more people join. There's an interest meeting today after school if you're interested!"

Michael Mell went through a sort of face journey the likes of which Christine had ever seen. He blinked rapidly, then furrowed his eyebrows, glanced around, before turning heel and walking away.

Christine was, momentarily, shocked speechless. She'd gotten disinterest, even some sarcasm, but nothing ever like this.

"Hey!" she called. "Do you want to join the play or not?"

"No," he replied. She watched dark hair, shoulders hunched in a red hoodie, headphones on his ears, disappear in the sea of students.

The bell rang, so Christine had to speedwalk to class like a pro. They ended up not doing Rent because the school board president was uncomfortable with the thought of two people of the same gender holding hands, much less kissing and singing love ballads about each other. Christine was furious, much angrier than the other drama students, and wrote a very long note about how disappointed she was in the lack of progress her principal was displaying and how Rent was a very beneficial show for the school to have. She stopped halfway through, though, because in her research she found a video illustrating the faults in Rent, which changed her mind about the amazingness of the play as a whole, but she decided that she would still choose to enjoy the music and characters while acknowledging that it was not the best show about the AIDs crisis that also perpetuated in the "Bury Your Gays" trope. She decided she'd try to convince Mr. Reyes to do a better show about LGBT issues later. But for now it was done.

\---

Jeremy Heere was not someone Christine thought about very often. She knew _of_ him, of his existence and stuff, and she talked to him sometimes in the hall. Like, hey, someone wrote something on your backpack! Or, hey, someone wrote a lot of really homophobic slurs on your locker! Like a lot! And also drew dicks on your notebook! Normal stuff like that. Christine knew he wore the same cardigan almost every day and a dark blue hoodie when he had to wash it (she hoped he washed it), because it was very obvious to see whenever she passed him in the hallway every day. She knew his dad had written the school board a letter the summer before seventh grade saying that he had a son named Jeremy now and that the school board was to "respect his lifestyle choices," which was kind of a shitty way for his dad to say his son was transgender, in Christine's opinion, but it wasn't any of her business, and anyway, all the teachers called him Jeremy through the years, so it did some good.

When he had showed up to play practice after school, she was surprised, but not unpleasantly so. She supposed her campaign efforts to get others to join the play had been working out, even though she'd really wanted the new girl with really beautiful curled-and-dyed hair and almost golden eyes to join, but it was nice to have a newbie anyway. He didn't know much about plays, definitely not Shakespeare, only knowing a few popular musicals that, frankly, Christine was tired of, but also a few cool kind-of-niche musicals. Jeremy was quiet, long hair half covering his face, with a sweet smile. Jeremy was very sweet in general, a very good listener. Christine informed him all about the nature of play practice and he took in everything very attentively.

He clammed up abruptly when other people came in, though. Jeremy hunched up like a turtle going back in its shell, shoulders almost up to his ears, wringing his wrist, looking back at them every time they laughed, like he was scared it was about him. It was a sign that he needed help with social situations, and probably was gonna be hard to open up, but Christine knew he could do it. She could coach him! She was very excited at the concept of working with Jeremy Heere, of telling him she _believed_ in his growing acting abilities, because she really did. Her excitement was only a little deterred by the weird version of one of her favorite Shakespeare plays, but, that was whatever.

Jake Dillinger talked to her after, which was, okay. He liked how she did in Romeo and Juliet. He was smiling a lot. He seemed fine, a little more fine than she thought a popular guy like him would be like, but still, it was just a boy. Her initial thoughts after the conversation was something along those lines, just, _Oh, cool, a boy, I guess,_ but became consumed with confusion when she saw Jeremy had abruptly left.

Her first instinct was to run around looking for him, which she immediately acted on. In her mind she was yelling _wait, Jeremy, I could be your super cool teacher! You're like my Padawan, Jeremy! My Padawan!_ While she went through how that reference would work and who that would make her in the Star Wars universe and what characters she and Jeremy could be, and also how a Star Wars play would work, would she rather it be a musical or a play, she saw a flash of grey and brown across the parking lot. When Christine ran to the window, she saw him stop at one of the grungiest looking cars she'd ever seen in her life, with who she recognized as Michael Mell, dark hair, red hoodie, standing in front of it. He looked much less like a startled cat when he was smiling, and he was smiling very big at Jeremy. She couldn't hear their conversation, but Michael seemed to be asking Jeremy something excitedly, and Jeremy waved his hand dispassionately, which Michael took as a sort of crappy highfive. They hopped into the car, together, which wheezed and puttered out of the parking lot.

Christine wondered why she had never put the two of them together, in her mind. Come to think of it, she'd seen them sitting together at lunch sometimes, when she forgot her lunch at home and had to go to the cafeteria to get it. They seemed good for each other, she declared in her mind. Maybe she and Michael could share a young Padawan. Train him together. That'd be nice.

\---

Christine was thinking about this when, about two weeks later, she approaches Michael Mell in the lunchroom. The night before she spent chronicling how she would corner Michael, but not in a weird scary way, just in a way where he wouldn't freak out. After analyzing what had happened in the hall a month ago, she figured he did not do judo, and was, in fact, not a big fan of being touched. She decided the best way to talk to him was at lunch, right after he had finished eating, because he wouldn’t spray food at her but also he would be free to talk without any distractions. It was a very good plan, and it worked out perfectly. He actually did very little eating, and sat with his hood up, scrolling through something on his phone, face sort of blank. Christine told herself, sternly, that this was none of her business, and she was not going to ask this poor stranger a bunch of weird invasive questions about his mental health or personal life or about how _perhaaaaaaps_ joining a club after school that involved communication and meeting other people like, _oh, I don’t know,_ an afterschool play might be a good thing for him. 

She approached him according to her plan before, sitting in front of him, hands folded in front of her, waiting patiently for him to notice. He did, eventually, but it took much longer than she expected and it took two minutes of her sitting there before he looked up from his phone.

“What,” he said, words more of a sigh than anything. He didn’t take his headphones off.

 _You have just about the prettiest eyes I've ever seen,_ Christine wanted to say. Instead, she took a deep breath and stuck to her plan. “Hi. I know we didn’t get off on the right foot before and I'm sorry for that. I understand if you don't want to join the play, well, I mean, it's also too late but, you know what I mean. I just want some help, please.”

Michael raised an eyebrow, then took off his headphones, but not his hood. "Listen, Christine, if this is a joke, or like, a ploy or some shit, I'm not really in the mood right now."

"What?" Christine sat up. "What're you talking about? What's there to joke about?"

He squints. "You ran up to me in the middle of the hall? Talking about trying out for a play, or something? Asked if I did Judo? Weren't you just fucking with me?",

"I was asking all of these things very seriously. The Judo thing was kind of a, you know, whoopsie-daisy, 'cuz I didn't know the verb for Judo. Or if it was a noun or a verb. Or anything about Judo. Jeez, I'm getting off point again."

Something changes on Michael's face, if only for a second. He takes off his hood, cocks his head. "No, it's. Fine. Uhhhhhh. What's up?"

Christine jerks up to straight posture, running through the script in her head. "Right, right! You're friends with Jeremy Heere, right?"

"Yeah, I mean....well. He's kind of been, uh, a dick lately."

"Has he really?"

He shrugged, and she flinched. No invasive questions, Christine!

"Sorry, sorry," she said, waving her hands. "Forget that. I mean, well, actually I'm glad you said that because he's been acting really super weird in play rehearsals lately? Like, totally weird and different from usual."

"Weird like how? Because Jeremy is always kind of weird. Like, not in a bad way, just in a Jeremy way."

"Well...he's always been kind of nervous, right, but then suddenly he was like, weirdly confident, and his voice was super deep, which is really unhealthy for his voice and I want to tell him that but I do understand it's for dysphoria reasons probably maybe so I try not to say anything --" Christine breathed in. "-- but he hangs out with all these people and cried out of nowhere about Eminem?"

"Eminem?" Michael almost laughed out.

"I mean, I know he died, but, like, Jeremy never really did that sort of thing before I don't think? I know I didn't know him that well, but, that's why I came to you!" She slapped her hands down on the table. "You seem like you know him better than anyone!"

He shrugged, toying with his slushee straw. "I guess I do."

"Do you think you can help me with him?" Christine leans forward conspiratorially, but not in a way that makes Michael backs up. "I think somethings up and, like...maybe he needs a support structure."

"Well, you're not gonna find much help here." He gestured to himself. "Jeremy hasn't been talking to me at all, so I can give info on the Past Jeremy profile, but nada on the new one."

Christine nods enthusiastically. "Okay, okay. Thank you so much." She shoves her phone in Michael's face. "Give me your number."

Michael presented her with his telltale Deer Caught In The Headlights Look. "I don't have a ph--" he started to say, and then looked down at the phone in his hand. "I mean, uh, like. Why?"

"'Cuz I wanna talk to you more, silly!"

"I'm gay," Michael managed out.

After a beat of silence, Christine carefully said, "Uhhhhh, awesome! I'm not asking you out!"

"Right. Right. Okay." Michael types out his number on her phone. "Why are you doing this, anyway?"

"Hm?"

"Helping Jeremy. Talking to me. What's the deal?"

Christine went through the script in her brain, but realized there was nothing there to answer this line. She'd have to improv. "I want to help, and I want to be your friends."

For just a second, just a small second, she saw a flash of a smile go across Michael Mell's face.

\---

The Halloween party was really just about the worst thing in the whole entire world. Really and truly.

At first, it's fine. Christine got a super cool costume and she looked adorable and she _rocked_ it, her dad said so, too. She had been texting Michael on and off for a while, sometimes meeting with enthusiasm and sometimes with no response at all. She wanted to text him pictures of her outfit but thought that'd be too weird so instead she said "HALLOWEEN PARTY AT JAKES!!! BE THERE AT 8  <3 <3 XD". She went to Jake's Halloween party, with Jake as her, uh, escort? She thought Jake was just trying to get a chance to know about the role of theater more, seeing as how much he liked the production of Romeo and Juliet, but once he went to feel up her butt at the party she knew what was really up. It was really disappointing! She really thought one of the popular crowd wasn't, like, completely weird and not understandable to her, but as it turns out, it's just some other creep. Jake couldn't even be okay for five seconds without trying to get something in return.

Anyway. She paroled around the party, grabbing various snacks and pouring her _own drink,_ no intent of getting spiked tonight, thanks! It wasn't as bad as she thought it would be, especially now that Jake wasn't around doing, whatever it is he was doing with her before. She even talked to a few people! Not about theater stuff! Mostly! Some of the people there actually knew her, mostly as The Theater Girl, but none of them were really mean about. There was lots of compliments about her costume, some of which might've be mean, but she decided to take it in stride, because it was Halloween and she's a _teenager,_ darn it! She's going to eat Ruffles and drink Pepsi and dance to loud music! 

Eventually, Jeremy came downstairs, nearly falling face first down the first two, and Christine leapt up from the couch to try and dive to catch him last minute because wouldn't that have been cool, but she misses and goes for guiding him to the couch instead. He was obviously, uh, very drunk, as evident by his foggy eyes and flushed face, but he was also acting like himself again. He made a lot of weird noises and hunched over himself and giggled too loud, and it was a very Jeremy thing for him to do, and Christine liked it. 

And then he asked her out. Which is, like, you know. No! And Christine said no, too, gingerly, because he is very drunk and he seemed like a very nice boy but Christine emphasized that she should _know who she is,_ and how she just really, uh, cannot in any universe date him, and then she got up and went to go to the bathroom.

And then the house exploded! Because of course it did!!!

Well, it didn't explode, there was just a fire, but it felt like it exploded and that was enough to get Christine using her three years of gymnastics from when eight and literally vaulted over the couch as best as she could and bolted. Normally, she would feel bad for this moment of self preservation, but she also know she probably might die especially if it was an explosion so she thinks she's okay with the Christine First method for right now. When her brain deactivated its' fight-or-flight response and when it seemed like people were out safe from the building, she saw everybody on the lawn, some people crying, some trying to act like they're tough. Christine didn't feel like crying. She just felt surprised, mostly. Four ambulances came, a bunch of police came, arrested some people, Christine texted her dad to tell him she was fine and safe. Jake was wheeled out in a stretcher, and Christine felt a small jerk of panic that she wasn't there with him like she was supposed to be, he _did_ invite her over, but she shut down the train of thought very quick. None of this was her fault. She had done nothing wrong, and she especially shouldn't blame herself for ditching a guy who grabbed her butt at a party. 

Christine sat on the grass after the ambulances had semi cleared out, looking at her frayed costume. She didn't feel very cute or cool right now. The police said nobody had died, which was a small miracle, but Rich Goranski was in bad condition, and Jake Dillinger had broken his arms, as well as a few other causalities. Christine looked at her muddy feet and wondered how they all made it.

A loud _beep_ startled her from her stupor, and she heard a muffled “Fuck!” come from the car across the road. Michael was in there, head in his hands, no Halloween costume or burns.

Christine trotted over to the car and knocked on the window, making Michael jump. He always looked so shocked whenever he saw her, Christine thought. His glasses were off. He rolled down the window.

“Hey,” said Michael Mell with the dark hair.

“Hi, Michael. Can I have a ride home?" said Christine, as gently as she could.

Michael looked at her for a long time. He hadn't been crying, but he had the look on his face like he wanted to, or had been, or like he wanted to but the tears couldn't come out of his eyes. Her dad called it 'the fighting tears', when you were so angry and sad and frustrated that all that could come out was a few tears even though it felt like you were screaming so hard your muscles were coming apart. Christine really wanted to hug Michael, but she knew she couldn't do that, and that was okay.

He nodded. "Yeah."

The car smelled like pot, or what Christine guessed pot would smell like. It wasn't overpowering, and also smelled kind of like cinnamon, and an oddly familiar scent of sweet laundry. Michael smelled terrible. Like sweat and pee and also a lot like booze.

Michael wiped his nose on his sweater. "You, uh, can plug your address 'nto my phone. Or yours. Either's fine."

"Do you need me to drive?" she asked. 

She watched Michael shrug, then stumble out of the front seat. At first she didn't try to move to help him, but he stumbled again trying to get into the car so she put a hand on his shoulder, and was surprised to not find him smacking her or yelling or going into Judo Mode. Christine adjusted the front seat to her liking, turning the wheel in her hands, humming.

"Tonight was pretty nutso, huh?" Her voice sounded really loud in the car, but she knew it was just from the quiet of outside and the other crazy loudness of the night.

"Yeah."

"Do you..." Christine faltered. She hated when she did that. She hated not knowing the lines! She hated this! For a minute, she almost succumbed to the urge to beat her hands on the steering wheel and scream, like a little kid, because none of the adults ever helped and it was just her alone in the world with a bunch of her peers that she didn't even _get,_ and she could have fucking _died_ in that house and that would have been the _end_ of Christine Canigula, and --!

She takes a breath. And another. And she opens her mouth. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

The sound that comes out of Michael is not quite a sob as much as it is the noise of a pained animal. She heard sobs being described like that in books, like something was being ripped straight from the source and dragged out of someones mouth, but she never really thought it was a thing people do. But Michael cried like someone was beating it out of him, crouched over in his chair, bottom of his palms digging into his eyes, mouth an ugly clenched line. He keeps sucking breaths through his teeth because his nose is so clogged with snot that he can't breathe, but it's even harder for him to breathe when he's wailing into his knees with every clenched breath. 

Usually when someone is crying, Christine does whatever she can to make it stop. That's what people always do, right? They try to soothe it, tell the person that everything is going to be okay, the crying person nods and sniffs, the curtain draws. But Christine was in a car that smelled like pot and her clothes smell like ash and she realized that she does not know Michael Mell. She does not know the things that he is going through. His story was his to tell; the things that he thinks about were his to think about. She couldn't pretend that things were going to be okay with Michael Mell. She doesn't know if things are going to be okay for him. 

So Christine didn't say anything at all. She sat in the still car and listened to him cry and cry and cry until his voice was hoarse and until he was heaving and no tears came out. She stayed and listened even though he didn't have anything to say.

"It'll get better," she said. "I don't know when. Maybe it won't be for a while. But it'll be okay, one day."

"Why are you so nice," choked out Michael. "What's your deal? Why are you so nice to everybody all the time? Why are you so nice to _me?_ I didn't do anything. You don't owe me shit. Why are you so _nice?_

__

"Because I want to be," she replied. "Because I think everybody deserves it, especially on a night as bad as this."

__

Nothing comes out of his mouth in reply. Just shaky ghosts of sobs.

__

Christine hands him his phone. "Can you type in your address?"

__

He nodded, nodded. Sniffed and typed it in. Christine pulled out of the spot and the car sputtered and gasped like a dying man but they get out of there fine, miracles upon miracles of the night. She watched the night pass by the drivers window and thought about how nice it was that she was there to see it, and would be there to see night after night of beautiful stars and New Jersey lights until she was old. If a fire at the biggest party of the fall didn't stop her, nothing would.

__

\---

__

The next time she saw Michael, he was illuminated by eery stage lights and looking panicked at a starry eyed Jeremy. Christine felt an overwhelming urge, deep in her veins, to punch Jeremy, at the very moment, but she couldn't because Hilary Clinton had just informed her that he was the most perfect human being in the world and he was going to make her understand everything and fix everything and she was desperately in love with him so she was going to say those words with her mouth, even though there's a large part of her that was screaming in pure revulsion because she would never date him, and it's not his fault, but she would never date him or Jake or literally _any boy at this school_ but she also was saying the words with her mouth and Jeremy was staring at her.

__

And she drank the thing he was holding, and Hilary Clinton disappeared and she was greeted instead with the single most white hot pain she had ever felt in her life, worse than anything. But Christine could only feel relief, because she wasn't going to have to date any of the boys in the school now. Thank God.

__

Before she passed out--before the stage lights became a screaming blur--she saw Michael run to Jeremy, cradle his head in his hands. 

__

And then she was gone.

__

\---

__

She took a long, long sip of her New Jersey hospital approved apple juice. It was pretty good, actually, even though Christine had never liked real apples because the texture was so weird, but apple juice was fine. Bananas were okay but banana chips weren't, and banana bread was the best because every kind of bread was the best.

__

Anyway. She sipped her apple juice. "So, a super computer took over Jeremy's brain."

__

"Right," said Michael.

__

"The supercomputer he got from a mall, at PayLess."

__

"That's correct," agreed Jeremy.

__

"And then it told him to do stuff like be terrible and uncomfortable and weird and make out with Brooke Lohst in the stairwell when we were supposed to be rehearsing."

__

Michael glanced at Jeremy, whose ears turned incredibly pink, and parroted, "That's correct."

__

"And _then_ it tried to take over the entire school via our school's production of Midsummer Nights Dream Except With Zombies."

__

Jeremy nodded.

Christine sat down her apple juice. "Alright."

__

There was a second of silence, before Michael repeated, "Alright?"

__

"Yeah, it's believable."

__

"It's literally--thanks, Christine, but it's literally fucking insane," said Jeremy. His voice was very scratchy from being so low, and Christine was desperate to point it out but she figured it probably wasn't the best time, seeing as how she yelled at him the second the two of them stepped in here and then Jeremy started to have a panic attack and Michael had to put them on opposite sides of the room so they could all calm down.

__

"Usually I'd agree! But also Hilary Clinton told me to kiss you and that you were, like, the Jesus of High School, so I can believe it."

__

Michael cleared his throat and kicked Jeremy's shin, and Jeremy cleared his throat in turn as if that would fix the fact that almost a month and a half of speaking like he was trying to become a heavy smoker killed his voice.

"Uh, Christine." Jeremy took a deep breath. "I wanted to say, first and foremost, that I'm really, really sorry for all the terrible...embarrassing crap I pulled. For a while. It was terrible and embarrassing and I'm sure it was even worse for you. I hope you can forgive me."

__

Christine nodded. "I forgive you, Jeremy. It's pretty easy to! Those Squip things are awful! They made me want to do all sorts of weird jank!"

__

Jeremy let out his deep breath. "But also I wanted to tell you something else, even though it might be awkward and weird but also the play was like, probably the most awkward and weird thing of this all, and I wanted to like, at least give context to my actions."

__

Oh, jeez.

__

"I, uh..." He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing a little too hard. Michael sat up and held his arm, looking at him intensely, nearly ready to open his mouth and say something. "I've had a crush on you for a really long time, and I know it was probably obvious, and I'm s-sorry I kept acting so weird and I hope that, that..."

__

He took a breath again, and another, his back rimrod straight. Christine was caught between burying her face in her pillow and trying to help Jeremy out because he looked like he was having an asthma attack or something like he did in the mall. 

__

"Oh, Jeremy, I. Oh, Jeremy." She tried to make her face resemble some sort of emotion that was identifiable by human eyes and brain. "Jeremy. Gosh."

__

Aforementioned Jeremy looked at her with big, hopeful blue eyes. Oh, Christ.

__

"Jeremy, that's...awfully sweet, but I don't...I'm..." She flapped her hands in exasperation. "Didn't I already tell you at the party?? Jake's Halloween party??"

__

Jeremy blinked.

__

"Oh, God. You were drunk." Christine sighed. "You don't really remember anything I said?"

__

He shook his head.

__

"Nothing? Not a word?"

__

Brown hair flopped in his face as he continued, again, to shake his head.

__

"At the play? You didn't get my explanation? At all?"

__

Jeremy furrowed his eyebrows. "I thought that was because of the Squip?"

__

"Oh my god. I'm _gay,_ Jeremy."

__

A whole three seconds of silence ensued. And then.

__

If she weren't so mortified, the scene in front of her may have been one of the funniest things she had ever seen. As Michael began to laugh hysterically, nearly toppling backwards out of his chair, Jeremy's face simultaneously turned as red as a human face could go while also going through the five stages of grief.

"I'm so sorry," Michael gasped out, holding Jeremy's shoulder, tears streaming down his face.

" _I'm so sorry,_ " Jeremy mumbled into his hands, again and again and again. "Oh my god. Oh my _god._ "

"I said I needed to find myself! That I didn't want other people telling me who I was! I said we were friends! I said I liked hanging out with you! How did you not get it???" Christine cried, laughter bubbling in her throat, too.

" _You said all that?_ " Michael managed again before collapsing once more.

Jeremy left the room after a few minutes, so mortified by the laughter coming from the two of them, even when Michael fondly called him back, Jeremy declared he could never step foot around Christine ever again and he should have let the Squip take him when he had the chance. It was nice. It was a very Jeremy moment.

"I missed Jeremy," said Christine, a smile in her voice.

"Me too." Michael's voice is much thicker, laced with something softer and older, like an worn blanket. His face nearly unreadable.

"Are you alright, Michael?" she asked, leaning forward. The last time they'd spoken had been at the Halloween party where they almost died, and Michael was so drunk he couldn't drive his own car, and she was curious. 

He shrugged. "In some ways, I think so."

Christine nodded, and sipped her juice again, contemplating whether to offer some to him. If he was allergic to apple, that'd be bad but also maybe she could learn about him more. But maybe he just hated apple juice and thought she was weird for liking it. She was slurping kind of loud, so she tried to slurp quieter. Maybe her slurps were crowding his brain.

"Is it okay if I talk about it?"

Christine blinked, surprised. "Are you sure? You know, you don't have to. I get that I'm kinda talkative, and stuff, but it's totally okay to keep some things to yourself. Not everybody is a talker! I know that, I mean, a lot of people I know are like that. Whoops, I kinda talked myself into a corner, there, haha. Most people don't let me keep talking this long. Did you go mute or die? Are you still alive?"

Michael waited until he knew she was done, and then shrugged again. "I'm used to it. And, yeah. I think I do wanna talk about it."

She leaned back, threading her apple juice straw in her hands. "Go ahead, then."

It took a second before he started, but his voice sounded careful, almost calculated. "He really hurt me. And it's going to take me a while to get over it. Like, a long ass time. Maybe not as long as a lot of normal people, but like. That's okay. I'm trying to be more okay with myself, you know?"

Christine nodded. She got that. She really did.

"This whole shit show -- the past, what, month and a half? Have been the absolute worst of my life, like, of all time. They've been awful. And it made me realize that I have like, no idea what to do without this one person in my life. I was miserable, because suddenly being a loser wasn't fine because it was somehow, different being alone with Jeremy and being alone with just me. I have no idea what I'm doing. I want to be liked -- not popular, I want to be _liked,_ and I think me and Jeremy both equaled that with popularity even though it's not that. Popularity isn't anything. But Jeremy wanted to be liked, too, he's wanted that his whole life, to be in a place that was good for him, that he could feel safe in without the amalgamation of terrible shit in his head, and I don't think he got that it was something he needed to, you know, find in himself. Jeremy doesn't like himself, but he likes other people and can't live without their opinion of him. I like myself, but I don't like other people and I think I don't need someone else's opinion of me. We're both stuck, but, sometimes I feel more stuck. Because he's trying so hard, he really is, Christine, and he really wants to just be this _good person_ even though he's already so good, and he just _tries_ and I want that. I want that, but I can't...I don't..." He trailed off.

He stopped then. The only noise came from the ceiling fan that was quietly humming, and the distant sound of heels clicking on the linoleum floors outside.

"When I was in seventh grade, I was completely lost in my life," Christine almost whispered. "I had nowhere to go. I didn't have anyone that liked me. I hated my new school and I hated all the kids, I felt like I didn't understand anyone, or anything. My whole life it's been just my dad and me, and I really love my dad, but sometimes it just got so lonely in the house. And trying to do anything was the hardest and suckiest thing because nothing seemed right. I didn't know what I wanted. And it took _months_ for me to discover anything about myself, like that I liked girls, or that I loved the play, or that I was a vegetarian, or anything. It wasn't just about other people or me. It was both."

She took a deep breath. "I think our worlds are not just what we perceive. I think they are all around us, shaping us, making us. I don't think anyone is ever going to solve every problem in their life by going to an afterschool club, or telling themselves that they're super cool and a good person everyday. You have to mix and match. You have to open yourself up. You have to see parts of your world in different things, different activities, different people. That's how, I think, you can move forward. Change your world, all parts of it, as much as you can, little by little."

They sat quietly, neither of them looking at each other. She could hear the clocks ticking on the walls if she listened hard enough, and she made a beat with them in her head, ticking along with it.

Michael looked at her with his striking gold-brown eyes, his dark hair, his red hoodie. "You are an excellent person, Christine," Michael said, very seriously. "You are very good, and I would like to be your friend."

Christine laughed. "I'd be happy to take you up on that offer, Michael. Every day from here on out."

**Author's Note:**

> I would die for Christine Canigula  
> Also if I get comments on this mentioning "guy that you'd kinda be into" or the ending or whatever I'll pull up my meta about how Jeremy is the POV character of be more chill and how the entire play is set from what he sees and percieves so he could have percieved Christine saying "hey this guy is fine" as smth more also he was being controlled by the squip. And also I'll pull up a picture that says CHRISTINE IS A LESBIAN AND THERES NOThING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT  
> I'm @sunshineboiii on Twitter and burnsLdes on Tumblr!


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